Nightmare
by Cranberriez
Summary: "I groaned, and looked about blearily for the reason why I'd woken. It turned out to be a cold, thin hand on my wrist, and an annoying repeated whisper in my ear." Dom's POV. Belldom-ish. Slight fluffiness, but a lot more angst. Some mentions of disturbing imagery, but they aren't described and are only in passing. This won't be everyone's cup of tea! Rated T for language.


**I honestly have no idea where this came from! It's quite different to anything I've done before, and is pretty drabbly. But why not give it a try? I hope you enjoy :)**

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Something began to pull me from the depths of my dream, and as much as I tried with all my might to cling on, it was stronger, wrenching me from my peace and unceremoniously dumping me back into consciousness. I groaned, and looked about blearily for the reason why I'd woken.

It turned out to be a cold, thin hand on my wrist, and an annoying repeated whisper in my ear.

"Dom, Dom, Dom, Dom…"

One eye shut, the other barely open, I looked up at his face. "What?"

He quickly removed his hand from my wrist now he knew I was awake, and dropped his gaze. "Had a nightmare."

I opened my other eye, pausing for a second in disbelief. In my sleepy state I'd forgotten what the true implications of his sentence were. "Fucking hell, Matt…" I rolled over so I was facing away from him and closed my eyes, silently calling out to that dream I'd been having to come back and take over my mind once more. "Go back to bed."

I expected to hear the shuffling of him leaving my room, but there was no noise. I stayed still for a couple of seconds, but the silence made me feel uncomfortable and I opened my eyes fully this time, the thought of sleep drifting to the back of my mind.

It was a tiny sniff that made me turn around again. Jesus, was he crying? I studied his face as carefully as I could in the darkness, and as far as I could see, his eyes were dry. They flicked up to look at me and then resumed their former position of staring at the floor. His teeth were worrying the inside of his mouth and his brow was slightly furrowed. His stance was uncertain, as if he was balancing on the tips of his toes and was ready to run away at any second. His breathing was unsteady and erratic. I sighed.

"Come on, then."

My muscles still felt a little fuzzy from sleep as I shifted over in my single bed to make room for him. This had happened before, but not for a long time.

"M'sorry," he said as quietly as he could manage, whilst he pulled the duvet back and slid in next to me, his whole body radiating guilt.

"Don't worry," I replied, studying his face, trying to work out how bad it was this time.

Matt had always struggled with bad dreams. And by bad, I mean absolutely devastating and horrific. He said it was because he had a sick imagination, but I secretly thought it was because of all the shit with Ouija boards and black magic he'd got into when he was a kid. Usually, the dreams were centred on him: _he_ was being tortured, _he _was being raped, _he_ was trying to kill himself. Those were the dreams that he could deal with, apparently, and he usually just rolled over and went straight off back to sleep.

When the dreams were about other people, though, that was when he couldn't handle it. I almost admired that fact, if admired is the right word. It just proved how utterly and completely selfless he was. If he dreamt that he was just stood there, watching the people he loved get abused and being unable to do a thing about it, going back to sleep wasn't an option. Not alone, anyway.

"What was it?" I said softly, being careful with my tone of voice and choice of words. Matt always told me that I was a naturally sensitive person, but even so, I couldn't bear to upset him any more than he already was.

He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. I could almost feel the tension that gripped his entire body, not letting him relax. He shook his head minutely, and I knew not to probe any further.

But I couldn't leave him in such a state. "Matt…" I rethought, guessing that endearment might work a little better. God knows he could do with some love; he missed out on so much as a child. "Bells, let me hold you." I gently put a hand on his shoulder: an invitation.

His blank eyes flooded with emotion at my words, and although it took him a few seconds, he eventually consented and began to turn towards me. I could tell I'd broken a barrier in his mind, and that he was now struggling to hold back tears. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close, holding him gently yet firmly. Love and protection.

"It's okay," I whispered, my lips brushing his forehead, and I closed my eyes as his first sob punctured the silence, killing me inside.

We stayed like that for a while; his arms crossed in front of his chest, fists balled up tight, sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder as images from his dream flowed through his mind. I concentrated on making him feel as safe and comfortable as possible, every so often whispering reassuring words into his hair. I wasn't sure whether he'd be able to hear me over his sobs, but although I didn't admit it to myself fully, the words were for my benefit as much as his.

Eventually, his body stopped shaking quite so much and his tears were accompanied only by little sniffs and snuffles. He looked up at me. "You're okay aren't you?"

The expression on his face, the pitiful sound of his sob-strained voice and the benevolence of his words considering the circumstances hit me so hard that I felt winded and on the edge of tears myself.

"Fine," was all I could manage to say, an unexpected smile raising the corner of my mouth as I wondered at his complex mind.

He nodded slightly. "I hate it when it's you. They're the worst…" He trailed off, a pained expression crossing his face as he looked away from me.

That explained it, then. I'd been the subject of his nightmare, and he was checking that it hadn't really happened, that I was alright. I bit my lip. He looked back up at me, and I placed a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close again.

"I'm alright," he said, his voice stronger now. I shook my head, unbelieving. "They're not real," he insisted. I pulled back to look at him, and I couldn't tell whether he was genuine or just saying it to make me feel better.

"They're real when you're asleep," I argued, my voice a little shaky.

He shifted up a bit so his face was level with mine. "And then I wake up." He smiled a reassuring, warm smile.

I hated to burst his bubble, but I had to. "And have to come and check that I'm not hurt…"

Just as I expected, his smile faded instantly.

"I'm sorry, Matt," I said quickly, apologising for my last statement, for the dream he'd just had, for the fact that he had these dreams at all.

He shook his head, a humourless smile taking the place of the genuine one from before. "You're right. I guess they are real."

My lip was between my teeth once again. "You really should-"

"No."

I sighed, and closed my eyes. I'd been about to suggest that he see someone about these visions, but as usual, he knew what I was going to say and immediately cut me off.

"It'll help," I decided not to drop it, like I usually would.

"It won't." He said with conviction, looking me right in the eye. I had no answer to such straight-out contradiction, so I stayed silent, but then his stare softened slightly, as did his voice. "_You_ help. And Dom, as-" he exhaled, and tried again. "As long as you still _want_ to be there… that's enough for me."

"I don't help it go away," I weakly clung to my argument, the sentiment of his words having a bigger effect on me than I thought they would.

He looked down. "It's not going to go away. I've realised that now. But you," his eyes were on mine again. "You make it so much better." The last word was merely a whisper, and with it I finally felt the full weight of his dependence on me.

"I'll always be there." I whispered back, and he gave me a small smile that said 'I know'.

"We should get some sleep now," he suggested, and I nodded in agreement. Relieved that he felt recovered enough to trust going back to sleep without worrying about the nightmares, I closed my eyes.

A minute or so passed, in which I listened to his now slow and steady breathing.

"Dom." He breathed the word so quietly that the only real sound was the first letter, but I knew it was my name. I opened my eyes, but his were closed. I watched as his lips barely moved. "Thank you."

I smiled. Not wanting to spoil it with an awkward spoken reply, I merely moved forwards and rested my forehead against his in response.

Our noses brushed, and I could feel him breathing softly. Just before I closed my eyes, I saw him smile.


End file.
